Big City Blog

2012-01-29T19:55:00.008+01:00

Spain's Costa Brava, 90 minutes north of Barcelona. Muy agradable

Time for a Change | The Favourites - final (for now) | The Differences | The Downsides

Wrapping up the Favourites section of the four-part Expat series, here are some images that convey some of the richness of Europe, all within a few hours' flying from Amsterdam.

Above - Sintra, Portugal - just your random, everyday medieval castle in the sky. Amazing.

Below - Lisbon, Portugal - the view from a room where I lived for month (the city, not just the room). Lisbon (and really, all of Portugal) is too often overlooked as its bigger neighbours get all the attention. Nice people, fantastic climate, laid-back life - it needs to be doing better than it is.
Above and Below - Peniche, Portugal - Home base of the Baleal Surf Camp. A great place to channel your inner Bodhi, but you don't need to rob banks to live here.

Below - Amsterdam's VondelPark (again). I'm not sure if Europeans invented the urban park, but they sure have perfected it. Places like this exist all over each major city I've been to in the past three years - a welcome break from the busy streets.

Below - Domburg, Netherlands. A few hours south of Amsterdam, this town is a surprise for anyone, expat or local, who is accustomed to the crowded houses and busy streets of the bigger Dutch cities. Miles and miles of coastline (why does kilometers and kilometers sound strange? anyway...) and sandy beaches can be found here, all ringed by dunes and then the town itself, which is full of classic pubs, pastry and gifts shops, and lekker restaurants with a Belgian influence.

Below (2) - Provence region, France. Read Peter Mayle's "A Year in Provence" - it's like a vacation in paper form. And it describes this fantastique part of the world more eloquently than I can.

Above - Silute, Lithuania - The woods here on a sunny late winter day were perfectly lit and peaceful. Lithuania has many small towns like this, along with some beach towns that I will update you on at some point in the next year or so.

Above - OK, I snuck in one more Paris photo. Couldn't help it. The addiction is permanent.

2012-01-22T10:42:00.010+01:00

Time for a Change | The Favourites - continued | The Differences | The Downsides

Part 2 of a 4-part series on being an expat

Istanbul, Berlin, Barcelona, Paris, London, Provence... all places that held an exotic, if remote, place in my brain before leaving Canada. Add in Lisbon, Lithuania and Malaga - respectively, two places I never thought I'd see and a place I'd never heard of, and, well, I've been very fortunate. More photos to come later this week.

Above - within minutes of arriving for the first time in Malaga, a place I had honestly (shamefully) never heard prior to four months before arriving. A late afternoon in March brought with it a warm sun, beer, and pure simplicity. And it's become an all-time favourite and somehow a place where I will end up, sometime.

Below (2) - more Malaga, more simple perfection.

Above - a favourite piece of art from the Musee d'Orsay in Paris. Europe fulfills every cliché in the book, in the best way. You breathe in more culture here, and appreciate the finer things. There's a lot going on in this painting, as a young man goes off to war.

Above - Amsterdam's Leidsestraat. A burst of sun every 2-3 weeks or so seems to serve like a massive magical eraser for the wintry gloom. Ditto below, in London's Kensington Gardens.

Below (2) - Barcelona's La Boqueira market and a Gaudi building. If northern Europe is all to grey and muffled in the winter, Barcelona (and Spain in general) is the antidote - full of colour and energy.

Below - April in Amsterdam. No one shakes off a long dark winter like Amsterdammers, and the plants and birds are in on it too.

Istanbul (3) - on the Galatea Bridge at sunset, and more. Amazing history in this city... but, with the tourist trap feel and constant hustle, overall it seems somehow better suited for the camera than the soul.

The Favourites

2012-01-11T21:52:00.016+01:00

Time for a Change | The Favourites | The Differences | The Downsides

Part 2 of a 4-part series on being an expat

So this is perhaps a little like a holiday-time clip show, where the writers take a break and run their favourite episodes of the past year. But some sunshine is in order, no?

I caught myself wistfully looking at photos from the past 2 years of travels and realized that there is no way I would ever have seen even half of these places if not for taking the initial big leap and leaving my old nest consisting of equal parts comfort and deep dissatisfaction. I still hope that at least one person who checks out this blog is inspired to do the same if they're stagnating or seriously bummed.

So here goes - places, moments that have left a permanently pleasant imprint on my brain since leaving Calgary in late 2009:

Above - U2 in New York at Giants Stadium, September 2009... Bono's voice has gotten pretty un-Bonoish, but still it's quite something to share a peaceful evening with 70,000 people and your oldest friend (not Bono, but a guy named Jason).

Below - The Jardin du Luxembourg in Paris. It was walking here for the first time in July of '08 that I first knew my days back home were numbered; that there is such richness and beauty and culture to discover (these photos are from a subsequent visit) October. I kinda want to make a joke here to make this sound less sappy, but, well.

Below - Vondelpark in Amsterdam, the city's version of Central Park. Essentially, it's the main artery of the city that connects south and north, east and west. Baked (not from sunshine, I assure you) tourists wobble on their bikes, dogs run amok, and bikes and barbeques are everywhere. Picture-perfect ponds and canals snake their way throughout, and there are some cafes and restaurants too. Impossible not to relax when coming here.

On to the coast north of Lisbon - away from the hustle of big-city Europe, it's almost like discovering a secret time capsule as you take a train along the ocean away from Lisbon's Cais do Sodre station. Carcavelos, Cascais, and Estoril are the stops here, in some cases just a few steps from the ocean. The sun beams down here like it's giving Portugal too much and not saving enough for the rest of Europe sitting further inland.

And more favourites to come soon...

Expat Experience - Part 1

2011-12-26T13:53:00.010+01:00

The first of a four-part series on being an expat

Time for a Change | The Favourites | The Differences | The Downsides

We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them

Einstein

It happened about three to five years ago. Somewhere between justifying to myself the purchase of a pair of jeans that exceeded $300 and reading about a security guard who was killed in a shopping stampede in some non-descript North American city as part of its annual Black Friday insanity.

It was between those two events, punctuated by hundreds of similar ones and accompanied by my own mild-to-less-mild forms of restlessness and depression, that I decided that a change was in order. My society and I were focused on the wrong things.

In brief visits to Europe (I'll exclude the UK if it's OK, as it is as bad as the US) in 2003 and 2008, I was struck by the smaller size of houses, food dishes, and stores, but mostly by the seeming contentedness of everyone I came into close contact with, be they relatives or relative strangers. People seemed less restless, more content.

I began to long for the absence of big box stores and ripped moms patrolling the aisles of the Apple store; for a lack of discussions about the next addition to the deck or the latest Wii. I wanted to say non.

Of course, I am still not immune to desiring nice things; nor is Europe some bohemian, egalitarian utopia full of happy people and devoid of consumerism. It still helps to have money, no matter where you are. And there are plenty of people here who are trying to keep up with the Joneses, or les Jones or the van Jonesenburgs.

But it's still nowhere near as all-consuming as the all-consumption of North America. You can still wedge some fresh bread, some cheese and a $5 bottle of wine (and it's pretty good wine) under your arm and sit in a park and have a great afternoon with friends. Try doing that in Toronto or Calgary and see how many people join you.

You do feel it immediately here - that you can get by with less and somehow live more. In Amsterdam, a cramped apartment and a bike and bus pass are all seen with unjudging eyes, and it sure doesn't impact your romantic life much. I'm not sure how many girls would have been keen to jump on the back of my bike back home, but in Holland it's common to see - and pretty damn fun, for both parties.

Contrast that with discussions with friends from Vancouver, Dallas, New York... all have told me tales of woe where they're regularly asked (within minutes of meeting a woman) "What do you do?" or worse "What do you drive"?

Places like Vancouver and Calgary are loaded with eligible girls and guys, none of whom can seem to get satisfied with one another as relationships today match the consumption patterns of regular products - each one is waiting for the next iPerson upgrade, even if the current model works great. I was as guilty as anyone.

And so, the life of this expat for over two years now has been a revelation. Call them expat eyes - a way of seeing things from a different perspective. Here it's about focusing on more important things, while at the same time not needing to live like a monk either - there's plenty of nice stuff to acquire if you want, but it doesn't define you as much. There is a better balance, a sort of permissible contentedness with however much or little you have.

I would paraphrase Einstein's quote to add that we cannot solve problems while being in the same place where the problems began. I think this kind of changing of perspective is only made possible by changing one's physical location entirely, if even for a few months.

The expat experience has made a firm enough impact to ensure that this new perspective will stay with me wherever I go from now on, as expat or ex-expat.

2011-12-19T12:04:00.001+01:00

Longer time between posts these days folks, as work has taken root and free time has eroded considerably.

Next up: What it means to be an expat.

Euro Neuro Scan

2011-12-12T13:40:00.007+01:00

All this Euro fuss is quite interesting to an inside outsider.

To get a handle on it I read the news, and hear some people's opinions, but I am no economist. I do know the situation is dire.

What I also know is that the idea of the various 27 countries in the European Union thinking the same way about anything is flawed to begin with. They wouldn't agree on how much butter to put in a pan, much less sort out a complex economic inferno.

It'll never happen either. A Spanish person's mindset is as different from a Dutch person's as bullfighting is to bicycling; the Greeks retire in their early fifties while the Germans do so in their mid-sixties. Where some are warm, passionate, not rich, and unhurried, others just 90 minutes away by plane are chilly, economically comfortable, and always on time.

A wise friend and writer named Stephen (follow him @BogusBobby) sums up Europe very nicely:

"Above the line, it rains, they drink beer, the indigenous food sucks, they work like here [North America], and the trains run on time. Below the line, the sun shines, they drink wine, the food’s great, the trains run late, and nothing the f&$# gets done all day."

In Amsterdam, in my limited experience, it rains so much and the winters are cold and dark enough that staying in the office for lunch and an extra hour or two at the end of the day hardly seems to make a difference in the bowels of winter.

Whereas if you are sitting in Malaga, and the sunshine is beckoning you each day for what seems like 10 months of the year... well, you'd want to get out of the office too.

To try to mash these lifestyles and mindsets together, along with a dozen other ones, is a fool's errand, as it has been since the first arrow landed in some king's paella, the first boulder in some keizer's schnitzel.

I just hope it all somehow works out, so I can get below the line as often and as safely as possible.

Sunny Days

2011-11-30T22:14:00.007+01:00

What to do on a warm, sunny day in Amsterdam, with the limited daylight hours of late November and your last few hours as a freelancer ahead?

1. Hop on the bike. The tram is for days of rain and snow, and for wimps. (Which I am for about 10 days each winter).

2. Head to Anne&Max or Cafe van Zuilen. Better coffee at the first place, better ambience at the latter.

3. Run errands, no matter how far across the city. The next 10 days call for rain, so you won't soon get this chance again.

4. Stop in at Mint Hotel's SkyLounge for the best views of the city in all directions. 6 Euros for a cup of tea = well, steep. But still worth the views.

5. Walk the dog. All the way down to the massive beach pictured here, in the leafy, mildly ghetto-y area of Slotervaart.

6. Buy fish at the Wednesday-only outdoor market on Sierplein also in the same neighbourhood. Friendly fishmonger will provide a bit of free fish for your furry friend.

7. Read online about the blast of winter that friends and family are receiving back home. Pretend as if this past summer never happened. (Which it didn't, actually).

8. Prepare for next day of sun, perhaps somewhere in mid-January.

Gym Dandy

2011-11-21T15:49:00.008+01:00

Squash City. Health City. Fit for Life. Fitness First. The preponderance of English-only names of health clubs in Amsterdam seems curious.

Stepping into any of them (I'm a proud Squash City member) reveals a few local habits that are even more curious, at least to the North American gym-goer:

Shyness: I don't think there is a word for it in Dutch. (Well, technically it is verlegenheid, but you get the idea). Whether it's the girls from reception entering the men's room regularly (and unannounced) to sweep and tidy up - pausing only to get you to step out of the way - or the spandex-clad guy splayed out on the incline bench press as though he's seeing a gynecologist, it seems modesty is for wimps.

Nudity: In the same vein - varicose or otherwise - the sauna area is co-ed. This means that the person next to you on the treadmill or the yoga class may well soon be next to you in the shower, steam, or sauna as well. This can either be a pleasant experience or a "my eyes, my eyes!" event that haunts your dreams.

Hygiene: everyone on the weight room floor has a towel with them to put between themselves and the apparatus they're working on, and you quickly feel strange without one. However, ten minutes after the workout you'll see fully naked people plunk themselves down on a bench in the steam room, sans towel, with only a quick squeegee sweep performed beforehand.

Effort: At least twice per visit, I hear the loud, repeated exhalations of PHHHEWW or WHHOOF from a guy as he enters the men's locker room, as if to announce: "I have worked out hard... behold me, the hard-working worker!"

Service: As with most establishments in Amsterdam, it is real hit and miss. The hit is fine - cordial, normal, helpful people - some exceptionally so. The miss, as I've seen around town on occasion, is a real miss, on a level where you want to either strike the person or ask them why they decided to work at all with other humans. A recent encounter:

Me:

Can I leave my bag here for 10 minutes (behind the trainer's desk in a corner of the gym, nowhere near any person or traffic)?

Meathead (actually the Fitness Manager, in a tone with an unreal jerkiness that is difficult to convey in print):

It's not for nothing that we have lockers, you know.

Me: (stunned silence, shaking head)

Tanning beds: These still exist in abundance at many gyms, and they're being used all the time. You can use the fitness benefits to fight off the melanoma.

So, come join a gym in Amsterdam - there are definitely some good ones. Places like Health City include free coffee and juices; many have a buikspierkwartier, 15 minutes of core strength that will help bring out the abs; there are lots of excellent group fitness classes, spinning in particular; and most places still emphasize Dutch gezelligheid, the coziness that has been mentioned in this blog a number of times.

There's a wide range of prices, from David Lloyd's preposterous 85-100+ Euros/month to the bare bones Fit for Free's 10-20Euros/month (which, technically speaking, doesn't sound very free).

True to Dutch form, there is nothing free in any gym though - the trial workout does not seem to exist here, though most places will refund you the cost of a day pass if you join.

And wherever you go, remember to bring your towel, your spandex, and your systematically beaten down expectations of customer service.

Movie Mania

2011-11-16T17:49:00.004+01:00

It's that time of year again, when the days darken early and Dutch parents still don't put hats or gloves on their kids.

It's also time once again for the International Documentary Film Festival, the best 10 days for movie geeks to sneak some peeks at the world's best un-Hollywood films.

I'm now on my third year of this cinematic feast, and as a seasoned vet I am all over this like Herman Cain on an assistant.

Want to make the most of the festival? Here's the lowdown:

- Get on the mailing list for the festival; they are not spammy, with only a few emails sent throughout the year, and you will get ample warned well in advance of the ticket sales and the overall program.

- On Day 1 of the kaartverkoop, go online and buy tickets for all your favourites. I bought 5 tickets this year, and it wasn't easy whittling down the choices. But waiting until the day before or day is risky. Although last-minute no-shows do happen; if you really want to see something, head to the cinema about 30 minutes before the show and talk to a ticket-taker or wait for a seller to start hawking.

- Bring your smartphone to the show - no need to line up to pick up pre-bought tickets this year, as the organizers have gone all smartphone-friendly.

- If you have any questions, be patient. The volunteers range widely from friendly and on the ball to friendly and way off the ball. It happens every year - some of them seem genuinely surprised to be there.

The lineup for the 2011 version is much the same - many with a very strong social message, some with serious stomach-churning violence and sadness; some with beauty as their main feature; and others that are light and a bit wacky. Virtually all of them look great.

This year, I've got tickets for:

Cave of Forgotten Dreams

Just came back from this; it's a fascinating movie about the discovery of cave drawings in France dating back 32,000 years, directed and narrated by Werner Herzog - in 3D no less. This movie expands your brain, largely (I think) by making us realize how short a time we're really here and how close we are to messing it up.

Desert Riders

The very sad story of camel jockeys (yes, actual camel jockeys) in the UAE.

Happiness... a Promised Land

A look at a simple question posed to various people on a hike: What makes you happy? (These days? An awesome fiancee, dogs, Guinness, playing squash, and movie festivals. I suspect this movie will delve a little deeper).

POM Wonderful presents: The Greatest Movie Ever Sold

Morgan Spurlock, the guy from Super-Size Me, casts a light on the prevalence and absurdity of advertising and insidious product placement. Which seems like a good time to mention that this blog is currently sponsored by Lithuanian garlic, Simon Levelt Indian Chai tea, Etos cough syrup and Hema's Ultra Soft nose tissues.

The Last Dogs of Winter

The Canadian Eskimo Dog is the only dog that can survive a temperature of minus-60 degrees. Only a few hundred are left. We'll see if it's chilling or heart-warming.

So a full agenda of movie-viewing is on tap, and I am overly, geekily, excited about it all. Some other ones that I may even try to see are Four Horsemen ("What is created by humans, can be changed by humans" - check out the trailer) and G Spotting: A Story of Pleasure and Promise (oddly, the identical working title of the first movie listed above). Just hope I find the damn place.

The Telltale Squeak

2011-11-06T16:46:00.000+01:00

After a good 10-15 minutes of walking up and down the bicycle racks like a mildly insane person, looking for my trusty, rusty steed, I had finally given up hope. In a city of some 524,000 annual bike thefts (no joke), I had just experienced my first.

Or had I? Suddenly, faintly, almost plaintively, I heard the squeak.

Unmistakeable, as quiet as it was. I looked up to see a guy struggling to get on a bike while holding another one, getting ready to ride off into the masses that make up Amsterdam on a Saturday afternoon at the intersection of Spui and Kalverstraat, in the shadows of the American Book Center.

On any given weekend, this square is crammed with tourists and locals sitting on a bench, eating at a cafe, or heading to the shops nearby. Coupled with the messiest, most clogged bike parking areas this side of Centraal Station, it is the ideal place for a wannabe bike thief to go virtually unnoticed.

Enter the squeak.

I bought the cartoon dog horn several months ago for several reasons, practical and otherwise.

On the practical side, it helps me locate my own bike quickly in a sea of bikes. There are, perhaps unsurprisingly, very few white squeaky plastic dog horns adorning the handlebars of Amsterdam's cyclists. But this little dude had stood faithfully for months now, letting me zero in on his location quickly and efficiently.

On the intangible side, I decided to approach things strategically a few months ago; with almost everyone sporting a bell that rings at various levels of aggression in order to get people to move (trust me - a bell being clanged repeatedly right behind you on a bike by a cranky Amsterdammer is on par with a car horn bleating at you in your own vehicle while you are stalled in an intersection), a horn that sounds like a baby's bath toy is infinitely more pleasant. And more successful.

So why not defuse the everyday bike traffic situation by giving people (usually tourists) a little ee-oo instead? For months now, I have been able to delight these visitors while simultaneously getting them to move the hell out the way. It's been a win-win. A Schwinn-win, even.

In happier times

Anyway, back to the guy. Evidently, before biking off he wanted to take away any obvious markers, so the dog was the first to go. But little did he realize it was a squeaking dog, or that the squeaking dog's owner was standing there about 5 steps away.

So in short order he rips it off, the dog goes ee-oo, and I hear it, incredulous that my bike is right in front of my eyes. He is struggling to balance his bike with one hand while riding mine, and I dash over and pull the back wheel of the bike up.

It's a guy's bike, with the bar of the frame right there, and he is forced into a rather uncomfortable position. Suffice to say, at this moment we are both feeling testy.

He falls to the pavement, with both bikes clanging to the ground and some 100 onlookers wondering what is happening. I yell at him, something along the lines of "Hey man, this is my *(%@$#! bike" and he turns around, peering out from under a hood that was thus far obscuring what turns out to be the sad, sallow face of a junkie.

With his hands up in the international symbol for Ref, I didn't do it even though I clearly did it he says "Hey, I just bought this off a guy, I didn't know it was stolen."

Note that I was in the bookstore for maybe 10 minutes tops and certainly this was not enough time for the bike to have its lock picked, be stripped its removable parts, and then sold to someone else. So I doubted him.

I then said "I'll give you three seconds before I punch you in the *(%@$#! face" and he scooted away on his other bike right away, gone forever into the shopping and cycling masses.

Adding to my doubts about his innocence, I figured if he had just bought it from someone else, I highly doubt he would have let me threaten him into giving me a bike by words alone.

To be fair, I'm not sure I would have punched him in the *(%@$#! face, but it sounded impressive and sufficiently tough. It all happened so quickly and unexpectedly that I didn't think of all the things I could have done, but the end result was satisfactory.

In hindsight, maybe it was his sad, impoverished face that held me back from bopping him; or maybe it was the fact that he was the same height as me and I'm just not that tough; or perhaps it was the new jacket that I had on and didn't want to ruin. I'll never be quite sure.

In any event, I have my bike back and am very thankful that somehow this idiot decided to bike directly past the spot where he stole the bike from 10 minutes earlier.

Alas, in all the excitement, I forgot one thing. The dog horn.

Squeak on, little buddy, squeak on.

Sigh.

Cool!

2011-11-03T18:08:00.004+01:00

My blog made easyJet's Blogger of the Month list for October!

It's like being the Employee of the Month, if I had a job.

Air BnB

2011-11-02T01:00:00.002+01:00

The morning view outside of our Airbnb-rented place, a 7th-floor apartment whose owners were in Lisbon for the weekend. In a popular destination city, people are making good money by renting out their empty place, even for a simple weekend.

That sound you hear, the nervous rattling of hotel keys? (Ok, they don't really rattle anymore since most of them are plastic cards, but work with me). It's the sound of hundreds of thousands of hotel and motel industry executives as they ponder and fret over the emergence of Airbnb.

Airbnb, if you haven't already heard, is a person-to-person accommodation provider. The vacationer, tired of hotel prices and looking for a more authentic travel experience, contacts the owner, who has either a room or an entire apartment or home to rent out. The prices vary from very low-end dives to high-end villas, but you can set your price range and fully check out the photos and even speak with each other before committing.

If you don't mind (as a guest) living in a lived-in place, or (as a host) having strangers in your bed, Airbnb is an ideal arrangement. Over 2 million nights have been booked on it so far - that's a lot of empty hotel beds too.

We used this for the first time in Paris, and it worked perfectly. Compare 250Euros for three nights in a very nice place where you can eat your own food and feel much less like a tourist versus paying 350-400Euros for three nights in a lousy, cramped hotel. A quick stop to the grocery store downstairs, and 3 days' worth of breakfast for 15Euros later and nous rions!

Below, more sights from a sunny October weekend in Paris:

The view from Parc Belleville - also featured in earlier posts from 2010, but it seems there is always a different light and the Eiffel Tower always beckons.

Above, images from the flea market Marche aux Puces de Vanves. It had your standard flea market stuff - Elvis posters, creepy dolls in sailors' outfits - and, uh, THIS. I have no clue as to its origin, but I'm guessing it's not Brazilian:

Outside a busy Rue Saint-Martin. Some B,er - boys?

Along the Seine, dancers of a more wholesome sort, doing a brunch and a line dancing class. When I am 60+, I want to be line dancing on the banks of the Seine.

Photo Gallery

2011-11-01T12:40:00.002+01:00

Did you know?

That just by clicking on one of the photos in any given post you can view them in a much larger format, and as a gallery?

This works on any picture, aside from the main one at the top of the page.

More Paris coming this week...

Paris, Encore

2011-10-25T12:14:00.013+02:00

Anyone getting tired of the annual homages to Paris that you see on this blog? I hope not. And if so, just skip the next few days' worth of posts.

I visited Paris for the first time in 2008, and have been back four times since, once for work but mostly for pleasure. It's quite something to have an almost unrealistic fantasy-like image of a place, then to actually see it live up to your own hype. And it's again something else to get to know it, like somewhat of an insider, seeing its warts and all.

This most recent trip two weeks ago took me to some must-see places, both old and new. And yes, Paris has its warts. Seeing some of the abject poverty and homeless people is still jarring, particularly coming from Amsterdam where it is less visible (whether that means it's less of a problem, I'm not sure). It is easy - perhaps too easy - to not even see the Parisian homeless, with all the amazing things to see in every arrondissement.

Alors, among the new: Day 1 meant a visit to Parc des Buttes Chaumont, an urban park of rolling hills, dramatic rocks, and even the odd waterfall. The colours were just starting to change too. A great new place to check out, get some fresh air and walk off the morning's excess pastry intake.

Also enjoying his first day at the park was a 3-month old dog we came across whose owner told us was seeing grass for the first time ever. Watching this little white ball go nuts with sheer joy was a highlight of the trip - makes you think about the last time you enjoyed a first time doing something, and serves as a good reminder to seek out some new first times.

No photos of the little guy, unfortunately - too busy petting him and fending off his happily savage bites - but he looked something like this, except with grass on him:

And now for the rest of the park...

Zeeland

2011-10-22T09:21:00.006+02:00

As we wrap up the Netherlands' Late Summer Series, let's take you to Zeeland. And let's imagine all of the following vividly in our minds, as it seems the photos taken from this day are lost forever on a wayward memory card.

Zeeland (pronounced zay-lond) is a region that lies in the southwest corner of Holland, a claw-shaped collection of islands and small towns and endlessly awesome stretches of big beaches.

Even before we got there, we had stopped in Rockanje, technically not part of Zeeland but of South Holland. A very quiet beach town only one hour's drive from Amsterdam, Rockanje (Rock-Kanye), this was the perfect place to park it on a very wide, long, and tranquil beach.

A few beach clubs with big decks facing the sea and some posters of DJ shows alluded to a more active summer life there, but on this day in mid-September there was a ton of room for everyone, including one ecstatic dog.

After a few hours of sun (I heard earlier this week that August officially had 3 days of sun in total, so this day provided a healthy 33% increase), it was time to head further south.

Zeeland lies mostly below the sea, a fact which contributed to a terrible flood in 1953 where nearly 2000 people died. As a result of that tragedy, the massive engineering project known as the Deltawerken (Delta Works) began to keep the sea out. You can read more about the werken and the flood here.

It's very impressive to see the dams in action, as you drive over them or even step out of the car to have a better look. It's this same ingenuity that has people from around the world calling in the Dutch when they want to manage a water issue (the beaches and bays around Malaga, Spain for example, were engineered by the Dutch to control the waves and erosion).

Onwards it was, one more hour's drive from Rockanje (so two hours' total from Amsterdam, for those of you keeping track) to the nicest town I've been to yet in Holland, Domburg. It was loaded with nice houses, restaurants and shops. Though not many web design companies, it seems.

The Franco-Belgian influence is easily seen here, with just that little bit extra put into storefronts, pastry shops, and food preparation. Domburg also has huge dunes lining the long coast, beyond which lies the kind of soft sand that you expect from the Caribbean. But if you want a quick reminder that you're nowhere near it, dip your toes into the frigid North Sea.

Zeeland is a revelation, a great place to spend a weekend, and yet another great break from the city right around the corner.

Texual Healing

2011-10-19T13:58:00.008+02:00

The open road along the coast

Still scarred - or soaked, rather - from this year's non-summer in Amsterdam, I was keen to grab whatever sunshine remained as fall loomed nearby. Enter Texel.

Texel (pronounced "tessle") is a small island north of Amsterdam, part of a Dutch archipelago that extends towards Denmark known as the Frisian islands.

Why would one head north, fresh off the beaches of Spain a week before? Well, the forecast was for a balmy 24 degrees and pure sun, and hearing so much about the peaceful plains of Texel made it a must-visit at some point.

There are special sections of the train for cyclists, so it's easy to get there right from your front door. A 90-minute train ride through some very nice Dutch countryside is followed by a 15-minute cycle to the ferry, which leaves every hour/half-hour, depending on the season.

Awaiting the ferry

No smoking on the ferry. And apparently, no hula hooping

What is it about ferries that reduce one to about 11 years old every time, running from port to starboard and bow to stern to catch the sea air and watch the wake? I don't know, but it's good stuff.

Rolling off the ferry and into Texel, it's quickly apparent that biking is the way to go. You can bike all over the island on special paths, stopping in any small town for a break or venturing into the dunes along the western coastline.

Not many places left in the world where you buy some roadside potatoes and just leave your money in a container

An artist doing serious justice to the nearby dunes

You will bike a lot here, probably for 4-5 hours over the course of a day, so make sure you have a comfortable seat. (*Guys - a good seat makes a vast difference for your vas deferens). The island is also very exposed to the elements, so be ready to bike into some headwinds.

Each town is marked by a number of small cafes, and the bigger spots have a nice collection of shops and restaurants to choose from. In between the towns are stretches of 3-10kms of farms and open fields.

The island does have a very therapeutic effect from city life, with huge skies and long sections of bike paths that skim the sea. I imagine it is pretty bleak in the winter or in the rain, but on a warm late summer day, Texel is definitely worth a visit.

2011-10-10T10:05:00.019+02:00

Five hours in Barcelona

11:00am - First, chuck all the suitcases into storage right by Placa Catalunya, in a cool little spot called Locker Barcelona. Between 5 and 8 Euros, your bags are stored in a safe, clean place for the day.

12:00pm - A metro and a monstrous uphill walk, aided by several escalators near the top, takes you to Park Guell. It was designed by Antoni Gaudi, whose name is synonymous with Barcelona, between 1900 and 1914. If you've ever seen of photos of Barcelona, you've seen Gaudi's work.

Perv behind me taking the dreaded - and rare - "upshort" photo

The buildings and public sitting areas are covered with hundred of thousands of coloured tiles, basically a huge mosaic.

Once you do make it to the park, you're rewarded with the coolest bench you'll ever sit on, and massive views of the city.

2:00pm - Next, via metro to the Sagrada Familia stop (Barcelona, like Paris, makes it dead easy to get around and see the sights in no time at all), to the church of the same name that also happens to be a Gaudi design.

Despite all the cranes (it's expected to be completed in 2026, the centennial of Gaudi's death), your jaw drops when you see this place. The intricacy of the sculpture work and the sheer scale of the place is amazing. Yes, it does feel somewhat douchey to say "intricacy of the sculpture work", but I am out of descriptive juice at the moment.

What a building. No time to go inside... next time!

2:30pm - Then it's off to lunch at a renowned tapas spot called Tossa - a place made all the more convincing by being A) off the eaten path and B) packed with locals. We received slow, kinda bumbling service that seemed as though they hadn't seen an English-speaking tourist before, but the food made up for it.

With very little time until bus time to the airport, a metro trip to the neighbourhood known as El Born to quickly check out some cool shops was in order. I've been here before, but only at night and in the bars. With a renewed sense of wonder, I felt El Born Again. Wow - a long way to go for a lame one. Sorry.

It's here that you'll find great stuff for men and women that isn't found in every other major tourist center. I bought some boots, which are somewhat out of character. This, as you might have guessed, provided me with something of a new El Born Identity. Again, sorry.

4:00pm - Then, it's back to Locker Barcelona, hauling out the bags, hustling around the corner, hopping on the Aerobus (there's no reason to ever take a cab to the airport; the Aerobus leaves every 10 minutes, it's air-conditioned, and there's tons of room for your baggage) for a mere 5.30Euros, and half an hour later a smooth check-in at Barcelona's airport and a two-hour flight to Amsterdam.

Mas Costa

2011-10-03T20:46:00.010+02:00

It's pretty sad to read the figures regarding Spain's job situation and economy in general. The official jobless rate is 21% - even a few points higher when the unregistered unemployed are factored in. 46% of people under 25 who aren't in school are also not working.

When you walk the streets of Barcelona, you get the impression that these numbers are overblown - traffic is busy, pedestrian intersections are crammed with business people and tourists, and the cafes are pretty full. You can feel the pain of the retailers though, and some shop windows are completely empty. And as soon as you hit the smaller towns, you really feel it - anything outside an urban center feels a little too quiet, a little too run down.

So here is one man's plea to get your asentaderas over to Spain an inject some money into the economy. I've only scratched the surface of the entire country - Barcelona several times, Malaga and Benalmadena, and now part of the Costa Brava - and highly recommend it to anyone.

The pace of life (at first a little maddening to the rushing North American/North European, but you get used to it real quick), the weather, the mix of nature and city life, of commerce and cultural pursuits... it all just makes sense, as though this is how we're supposed to live.

Why it's broken down right now is something an economist can explain better than I can - part global crisis for sure, and some might suggest the lifestyle is too relaxed - but I imagine some tourist dollars couldn't hurt.

Crema Catalana

No, not me. Not my mom either

Sights like this abound all along the Costa Brava, on trails between beaches and small towns

Rent a shed on Platja Sant Pol

Sunday traffic in the bay

A neighbouring town, Sant Feliu de Guixols - a very large port town, and one gets the sense it had a much more prosperous past

Costa Brava

2011-09-29T21:30:00.010+02:00

Spain will give you whiplash. It is a country that leaves you simultaneously shaking, turning, and scratching your head.

You shake it in awe, as in I-can't-believe-they-make-places-this-nice, with the food, warm people, and jaw-dropping views on every corner.

You turn it on the streets and beaches, as caramel-coloured beautiful people (of both sexes) pass by you every 20 steps or so.

And you scratch it, as you wonder how the country can't seem to make it work and seems to be permanently on the verge of collapse economically, despite a booming tourist trade, world-class cities in Barcelona and Madrid, and all the aforementioned natural assets. I think everyone is simply too distracted to work. I would be too.

It is with this whiplash that I write this post, fresh off a week of business in Barcelona followed by chilling on the Costa Brava.

A 90-minute, 14.30Euro bus ride from Barcelona's Estacio Nord to the village of S'Agaro and its beach, Platja Sant Pol, brings you to the beginning of the area known as the Costa Brava. It's an amazing area.

With dozens of beaches lining the coast, you can walk along the coast for hours, from beach to beach, on a mix of clean-cut paths and more rustic trails lined by huge villas and simple brush and pine trees. (Smelling pine trees along a massive stretch of sea was a particular highlight - normally, pine for a Canadian means forests and a winter coat).

I normally feel compelled to share some great insight in these posts - in this case, the only wisdom to be gleaned is: go to the Costa Brava.

More to come in the next few days.

Costa Doing Business

2011-09-27T23:03:00.003+02:00

Photos from Zeeland and other recent adventures are still firmly and stubbornly lodged on an old defective camera disk.

But a new card was used just in time for Barcelona and the beautiful Costa Brava. An update on its way as soon as time permits...

Technical Difficulties

2011-09-13T07:48:00.002+02:00

Coming soon, an update from a very nice part of Holland called Zeeland. In the meantime, an update:

- Camera not working, many photos not uploading.

- Weather - one - seriously - nice day in the last 60; I do have photographic evidence.

Postcard

2011-08-27T12:10:00.010+02:00

Postcard from Summer Camp

Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm writing to you here from my bunk here at Camp Amsterdam. The rain is steadily falling outside, and I've lost track of the days. Not because I'm having fun - I just mean the rain has caused day and night, weekend and weekday, to blend together into one summer-long washout of wetness and greyness.

Does that sound a tad melodramatic? Yes. And certainly with all the terrible news going on around the world this year, I have no real complaints and still keep things in perspective for the most part.

But back to the weather. Seriously. Dude. I didn't realize that a season could have social anxiety. The number of times that the mercury has crept up above 25 degrees and the sun has sustained its shine unimpeded for an entire day can be counted on one hand. Maybe just one finger, if you get my drift.

There was a weather warning issued yesterday, making it the sixth time this summer this has occurred. July's rainfall was the largest in over 100 years, and so far August is saying "Oh yeah July? Watch this."

Teasing sunshine and ominous clouds make for nice pictures but not nice picnics

Rain on the sunny patio. Best five minutes of the day.

9:30am August 26

A 20-minute downpour produced big flooding. Hopping off the bike and taking shelter is a regular occurence

Amsterdam is renowned for its summer festivals and big parties, which makes it even tougher to handle right now. August in particular is loaded with outdoor cultural events, movie nights, concerts, and performances in the park. Nothing beats a sunny day lounging in Vondelpark or sitting canalside watching the world go by. Aside from the heartiest party-goer however, most people have opted to stay in.

Speaking of hearty, most Dutch people I know are just as fed up as I am. There are a few - refusing to wear jackets or insisting on going ahead with a planned outing - who are fond of the local expression "C'mon, I'm not made of sugar, I won't melt." But these people are idiots.

It's not only me suffering. Across the city, bikinis sit idly in dark closets, waiting for their chance to bust out. All men, overflowing with the need to ogle, are forced to content themselves with surreptitious, doleful glances at bus stop ads for Axe body spray.

And how about the other casualties? There are cases and cases of 2-for-1 suntan lotion in bins everywhere; overstocked beer is going for 9Euros for a case of 24. Sugar-encrusted Slurpee machines are losing their ability to slurp. Fans of Ke$ha are barely getting slizzard.

So, as September approaches and the leaves begin to change already, I will put away my milky white legs for another 7 months until the real sunshine comes out in March. Till then, say hi to summer for me, enjoy a barbeque or two, and instead of food please send blankets and self-tanner.

Love,

Pluk de Nacht

2011-08-20T18:34:00.007+02:00

Imagine, if you will, a warm, buttery evening of no wind, no rain, and an open-air film festival along the waterfront. You spread out a small blanket, crack open some wine, some bread and some cheese with a few friends, your neighbours on all sides doing the same, from a cozy but comfortable distance.

Then imagine that you are experiencing the ONLY warm-ish evening of an otherwise abysmal summer for weather, and a few thousand people are hoping to capitalize on the same welcome atmospheric aberration.

You would then be at Pluk de Nacht ("Pick the Night"?), an annual 10-night film festival that boasts free entry (unless you donate a small amount for one of the coveted beach chairs ahead of time) and a cool selection of critically-acclaimed films.

Ours was something featuring Philip Eatmore Often, the thickening thespian. Since he won Best Actor for Capote in 2005, I don't think he's been resting on his laurels - he's been eating them.

Too bad we never found out the name or heard one moment of the movie. Arriving 45 minutes before nightfall (about 10:15pm), the crowds were massive. A small patch of grass/sand with a partial view of the screen and being surrounded by a crowd that was too far removed to care enough to be quiet ensured that this movie was not going to be seen. Too bad - it looked pretty good.

The atmosphere was nice, and still it is a cool setting and concept. It just doesn't have enough space and the climate rarely co-operates. I'm finding out that there's a reason most of the Netherlands heads out on vacation in August.

As for the next time I'm feeling Plukky - lesson learned. On the one warm and dry night of August, I'll arrive extra early, reserve a beach chair close to the screen, and warm myself further with some vino and hopes for a better September.

Film-goers with no chance of hearing the film. Sorry, I can't explain the random door wedged into the ground.

Vedett is the beer of choice at the event

This was our (disad) vantage point

Some plucky youth tried to get the upper hand on a prime spot. They were booted off about 10 minutes later.

Hello

2011-08-15T17:03:00.000+02:00

Still here, I promise. Just emerging from 3-4 weeks of rain and busyness. Posts coming this week...

Top 10 Amsterdam

2011-08-03T06:39:00.000+02:00

We interrupt this Canadian vacation summary for a brief update on the top 10 (new) observations of Amsterdam:

1) Dutch kids need to be tased. Now, for those of you who are familiar with my earlier posts from over a year ago, you may recall my disdain for the way Dutch kids behave (or don't) in public. This has not abated.

It's not uncommon to see a mop-haired kid anywhere from 3 to 10 years old running full-tilt, screaming like a hyena in a grocery store, down a busy escalator, down the aisle of an airplane, in a coffee shop (the normal kind) or in an airport gate area. It's equally uncommon to see their parents make even half an effort to restrain them.

Mom is oblivious to the discomfort of the other people around, and Dad is inciting them to greater and greater heights of ecstatic annoyance by playing along. Actually, let's make it tasers all around, a family tasing.

2) Dutch weather in July is about as confusing as a hot transvestite. 15 minutes takes you from searing sunshine to the North Sea being dumped on one's head. Winter may bite in Canada, but summer is summer for the most part. Not so in Nederland.

3) The newest discovery: the Sky Lounge at Mint Hotel, steps from Centraal Station. The 11th floor restaurant/lounge/terrace has the best views of all of Amsterdam and some parts north of the city, all within a cool, loungey vibe.

4) Much is made of the supposed indifference and coldness of the locals, but in any given neighbourhood you're much more likely to say hello and have a chat with a person on the sidewalk than you are to get the brush-off. Even more so if you step outside the expat bubble and make an effort to speak a little Dutch.

5) Being a regular really counts. The other day I ordered my customary doner sandwich at Grillroom Sefa (bread on the side, extra veggies) and ran to the bank machine next door. I came back to have it already on my usual table by the window, hot and ready.

6) Incidentally, "by the window, hot and ready" is still what brings many tourists here. Despite the desire of the city officials to phase out the red light areas, a recent stroll through the area (yes, a stroll - one doesn't saunter, wander, or amble here) to show an innocent out-of-towner what it's all about (yes, she was slightly horrified) confirmed the truth: sex still sells.

7) Free outdoor film festivals

8) OK, so it's a top 7 for now. But 3 more things are sure to pop up soon...

Calgary and Banff

2011-07-27T19:51:00.000+02:00

Calgary's Bow River and downtown at dusk

The first thing you think about when visiting Calgary - coming from Europe - is: where is everybody? Answer: in the 'burbs or in their cars.

The city is essentially the complete opposite of Amsterdam - spacious, car-filled, and with an empty downtown after 5pm. Living there, you get used to it of course and can enjoy the space immensely, with larger fields and playgrounds, more privacy in your own home (I could look out my old Amsterdam window anytime and see 3-5 people in their respective apartments; they, presumably, could also see me).

No longer living in Calgary, however, makes it a somewhat surreal experience when returning for a visit. There are literally streets and streets where you won't see a pedestrian or a bike.

The coziness and density of Amsterdam has an insulating effect, or a claustrophobic one, depending on your perspective. Calgary - isolating or freeing. It's a matter of taste.

Short on time (and photos - sorry) to visit Calgary's downtown, I did what every tourist does and made sure I headed to Banff, an hour's plus drive from the city. Here you'll see many people - make that tourists - strolling the streets and shops in the midst of some awesome mountains, before sitting down to an overpriced but tasty hamburger and then heading outside the town itself to the serene surrounding areas like Lake Minnewanka, pictured below.

More Vancouver

2011-07-16T13:26:00.011+02:00

A few obvious things stood out as I crossed Canada after nearly two years abroad. One was the rampant consumerism that is part of North American life - you forget this, having simply grown up in it. There were a few moments where I was actually confused by all the choice and products before my eyes.

In Amsterdam, as in a Parisian market or Spanish supermercado, you might have a choice of say 3-4 kinds of peanut butter. Not so in Canada or the States, where your choice of 10 brands and 3 varieties of each brand is arrayed for your convenience.

I walked into a Shoppers Drug Mart in Vancouver, on the hunt for insoles. I was confronted with this:

Insoles galore

It took me about 10 minutes to decide to go with my final choice, most of which was spent weighing the benefits of gel, air pillos, sport models and barefoot (this one seems like a bit of a scam, when you think about it).

Barry Schwartz wrote a book on the over-choice-filled, over-consumption world that is much of the West, and how it actually reduces happiness: The Paradox of Choice, where he posits that some choice is much better than none, but too much is a recipe for misery.

If you don't have time to read the book, check out his TED talk. Actively limiting some choices and being content with what you have are great nuggets to take away from it. That is, if you choose to.

So one effect of being away for a while is being perfectly ok with just a couple kinds of peanut butter (the Fair Trade brand makes a beauty) and a basic insole, which is nice.

I'm not sure if Europe's reduced selection is due simply to space constraints or a concerted effort to simplify life. But it works.

Vancouver's Pointe Grey area

Incendio, a fantastic pizzeria and Italian restaurant with the best focaccia bread ever, located in Gastown

An all-book changing room, in the center of a clothing store in Gastown

Part of the seawall around Stanley Park

Vancouver is apparently a bit of a meat market

Vancouver

2011-07-15T18:13:00.008+02:00

Just four days before we arrived in Vancouver, there was a riot that grabbed headlines around the world. Similar images were happening halfway around the world, except instead of the overthrow of a decades-long dictator in Syria, the catalyst for this was a hockey game.

The images were pretty shocking and painted a pretty ugly picture when juxtaposed with the kind of beauty that Vancouver offers.

Most people I know there downplayed the riots, and in most cases had to be coaxed into talking about them at all.

Indeed, walking around the city and the riot-stricken areas, it was pretty tame aside from boarded-up windows. People had come out in the thousands the day after the riots to reclaim the peaceful, friendly city that it is.

Post-riot graffitti

I got the impression it was more of a bad dream, whose images last a lot longer than anything that actually happened. Tough blow for Vancouver, but ultimately it was a real weird, ugly hiccup in an otherwise amazing city.

Kitsilano Beach

Canada

2011-07-13T21:06:00.004+02:00

Ric

The past 3 weeks took me, as a tourist of sorts, back to the motherland. It was very interesting to view the country that was the only place I've lived (aside from a short stop in New Zealand 15 years ago) as a relative outsider, camera in hand and newly-formed Euro-goggles on eyes and brain. More on this in subsequent posts.

First off, what does it mean to go back home? It's a mixed bag, that's for sure. Kind of a cocktail of happiness, comfort, nostalgia and melancholy.

It's the place of so many personal triumphs and failures, which come back to you in equal measure depending on which street you turn down on a given day. Places and ghosts that were happily remembered or happily forgotten, until now. Each painful tweak is also offset by a great reunion with a close friend.

And things are different, no matter how much they appear to be unchanged. It hits you when parents are a little more wobbly, a little slower to move around. Nieces and nephews are way taller, a little less innocent, and you hope you haven't missed too much already.

Being there for only a few days or weeks made me appreciate everything more intensely.

I didn't realize two years ago that I'd be saying goodbye to a very good friend forever. He got very sick a year ago, and passed away in March. When I last saw Ric - one of the nicest guys ever and a tremendous dad and husband - we were on the golf course and he was perfectly fine.

To not see him ever again is unfair and still somewhat unbelievable. All the cliches are true - it's part of life, life is cruel, you never know... blah blah blah. It's simply not what you bargain for when you leave town, whether it's for a day or a couple of years.

Ric's passing helped in only one respect - I made sure that every goodbye this time around was fully absorbed and appreciated.

Issues

2011-07-11T14:13:00.002+02:00

Hi All - and apologies for the delay in posting. Jet lag + suddenly wayward laptop = no posts for some time.

Fingers crossed for the laptop, I hope to have this rectified in the next few days.

Meanwhile, the new Guardian gig has begun.

Canadian Visit

2011-07-04T21:07:00.001+02:00

Forget the royals' tour... updates coming soon from a swing through Montreal, Calgary and Vancouver (just missed the excitement/stupidity there).

Adieu Provence

2011-06-26T15:28:00.015+02:00

Marseille

Via the magic of the internet, we'll combine Days 3 and 4 in the south of France. Largely because Day 3 was mostly uneventful, unless you consider Noah's Ark-esque rains in one of Europe's sunniest regions eventful.

A comfortable train ride from Avignon to Marseilles takes you through rolling hills and meadows and quaint small towns, as you can plainly see here:

Arriving in Marseille to a beautiful train station - modern on the inside, old-fashioned on the outside - some two hours later, you're greeted by a helpful information center and get pointed in the right direction to your hotel.

It's on the 15-minute walk to hotel that you get a sense that Marseilles (* you'll see various spellings, avec ou sans "s" - so we'll go with both here to appease both the s and non-s camps) has fallen on some tough times. It is one of the poorest large cities in France, and you can feel a bit of the edge when walking around, especially at night.

Still, it is France and that means there are some very nice-looking buildings, some great cafes and a bustling street market, mostly all centred around the Vieux Port. The trade-off: you lose Paris' polish for friendlier people in stores and restaurants in Marseille.

A meandering 30-minute uphill walk (you can also take the bus or a trolley from the Vieux Port) takes you to a stunning church called Notre Dame de la Garde, with a bona fida how-the-&%#*-did-they-do-that monument as it's crown jewel. It's a huge gold statue, weighing 9800 kilos and standing 11 meters high on top of a tower. It was erected in 1870. The entire site started as a small chapel in the 1200's.

The trolley from the Vieux Port to the church

Irrespective of your denomination, this is well worth the trip for the 360-degree views of the city and the ocean in addition to the impressive church.

Overall, Provence lives up to its sterling reputation. Oui, it can be a bit too touristy, but with any kind of patience and with an appreciation for the sights and tastes and smells, one can easily overlook the tourist hordes and be charmed a hundred times in just a few days.

Marseille train station

The view from the hotel room terrace

Le Vieux Port

Le hotel elevator

Notre Dame de la Garde

Below, views from the courtyard of the church and the interior

Parking, only 2 bucks! Cheap!

2011-06-18T14:02:00.007+02:00

Day 2 of the 4-day trip in the South of France trip brought with it quite a bit more rain, but we managed to hit a great little market in the town of Bonnieux. It seems that each town or village hosts a market day on a different day of the week.

At these places, soaps, oils, sausages, wine, and cheese are the main sellers, with fresh produce sweet treats, and tons of kitchsy-but-somehow-tasteful souvenirs also in abundance. Toothpick-holders, soup spoons, tea cozies, you name it. But still, the quality of the food is so high, it makes you never again want to buy a supermarket-packaged item.

The afternoon brought us to Gordes, a dramatic-looking town essentially pasted onto a hillside. More of the same for sale, with the added plus of great art stores and restaurants.

You feel the sense of history in Gordes, much the same as so much of France - things feel as though they are largely untouched from when horses and knights walked the streets, perhaps also selling lavender-scented oven mitts for 10 Euros.

Next up on the blog: a day in Marseille, eh?

The town of Gordes

These walls lined many properties on the drive up to Gordes

Mon dieu! Centuries-old graffiti perverts? The famed Saucisse du Saignon? Or just an extremely juvenile photographer?

Saignon

The view from Saignon

Saignon

Housekeeping

2011-06-13T01:00:00.000+02:00

**Update**

Let me guess, anonymous international visitor. You Googled "Housekeeping" and saw the picture of the attractive housekeeping model above in the Images results. She has made my site - which has absolutely nothing to do with housekeeping - rather popular from all four corners of the world.

I'm sorry, but I don't know what to tell you. I doubt she's actually a housekeeper; and if she was, I doubt even more that your wife/girlfriend would be cool with you hiring her.

The post from October 2010 was just a way to get readers of my travel blog to provide some ideas as to what they wanted to see, and I just happened to have the word "housekeeping" in the text (see below).

Alas, I bid you good luck with your housekeeping search. If you feel like reading a Lonely Planet-approved travel blog in the meantime, welcome.

10.06.10

Dear readers,

For the first time in BCB history, this post is completely unrelated to travel. Just two items...

1) You can now "Like" Big City Blog on Facebook, and add comments there if you want. There will be updates each time there's a new post, plus some other random comments and fun items. Just enter "Big City Blog" in the search bar on FB, or click here to go to it directly.

2) If you have 5 minutes, I've created a short survey in preparation for a potential book, and for any improvements that need to be made to the blog itself.

It's all anonymous, so if you can help out, that would be great.

Click here to get started on the survey. (Did I mention it is 5 minutes maximum? And anonymous?)

Obrigado,

Jeff

More Provence

2011-06-09T22:02:00.007+02:00

Provence is one of those rare places that lives up to the cliches. It is just as full of great food, poetic landscapes, and old-school charm that you think of when hearing "Provence".

Yes, there are some run-down towns (Apt) with graffiti and boarded-up windows; a few traffic snarls; and you can imagine places being overrun with tourists when the weather is nice.

But the rolling hills and amazing little shops of fine foods, oils, and fragrances (yes, I said "fragrances" - sorry, the place got to me) and head-turning scenery all more than make up for it.

The fog in Saignon

Same spot, 10 minutes later

Art shop in Gordes

Provence Day 1

2011-06-06T12:35:00.007+02:00

The guidebooks will tell you that the sun shines over 300 days a year in the Provence region of France.

From the airport to Avignon

I, however, will tell you that we happened to be there on four of the other 65 days of the year.

And yet...and yet. There were enough holes in the clouds and moments of light to really enjoy every day of the trip. The small villages/hamlets (not sure what the difference is, but saying "hamlet" somehow sounds at once more appropriate and more pretentious) were of the melodious sort - Bonnieux, Cassis, Avignon - and the less so - Apt, Gordes (the "es" is silent). I expected Gordes to be full of lumberjack-jacket-clad Canadians.

Staying in a small dot on the map called Saignon - technically defined as a commune - you're instantly transported back a few hundred years. The houses are cobbled together haphazardly, so you 're never quite sure which path leads to your front door. Renting a place is quite affordable, with a very spacious 2-bedroom place with stone walls going for 500Euros/week, split-able between friends even.

From there, it's a series of day trips to various town markets and wine regions throughout the day.

The next few days will showcase some of the region, with pics taken between the raindrops. It ended with a night and a day in Marseille. So tune in this week for more. A bientot.

The view from Saignon

Provence

2011-06-06T08:53:00.001+02:00

Highlights from a 4-day weekend in Provence coming soon...

Queen's Day 2011

2011-05-29T08:49:00.009+02:00

One month ago today, I experienced my second Queen's Day in Amsterdam. The first one would be tough to overcome - I was amazed by the parties on every street, the floating nightclubs filling the canals, and mostly by the exceptionally positive vibe of it all. 500,000+ people come into the city for the day each year, all, it seems, happy to shake off the winter chill.

And so it was once again, at least to begin with. We toured the street markets - essentially a city-wide garage sale, where everyone rolls out a sheet and sells anything from cupcakes to designer clothes. Great start, sunny day, crackling with promise.

The slow walk towards the Jordaan neighbourhood was similarly enjoyable. We saw the early starters around 1pm floating past, once again with jaw-dropping sound systems and everyone decked out in orange.

The mood - mine anyway - quickly went south though. I saw my first (and hopefully last) boat-on-boat violence. It's not clear what started it, but one guy jumped from his boat onto another, obviously with bad intentions. As he began getting stomped by the partiers who were a little less than enthused about his arrival, one of his mates stood on the bow of his boat arguing with the others on the invaded boat. A pretty massive punch followed, and the recipient staggered back on hands and knees to the deck of his boat, bleeding from the mouth.

Nothing like an incident like this to cut the party vibe short. Vodka, orange juice, good friends and some street-boogying helped shake off the sting later, but it took a few hours. My orange-tinted bubble had burst, unfortunately, with seeing that nasty dust-up.

The entire day can be summed up in a photo essay.

You can see how there might be some potential for conflict on the waters.

This is a transit ad - a pretty cool inside joke for Amsterdammers. The word "bezet" means "reserved" or "set aside", and in the days leading up to Queen's Day, you'll see sections of sidewalk all around the city marked with tape and this same word. This is done by anyone who wants to sell their wares as mentioned above.

So here... this guy's palm is reserved for a Heineken.

A royal breakfast

The trick to walking around the streets isn't finding food or drink - there's plenty everywhere, and in every tasty variety. It's where to unload these items throughout the day.

Which brings us to this guy. This enterprising fellow works at this building under construction as a mason during the week. He decided to make a little (ok, a LOT) of cash on the side on Queen's Day. For 2 Euros a pop (or a poop), one enters the unassuming doorway to this place. You then line up - women patiently, with men able to go to a nearby wall - for the one port-a-potty on the premises.

Highly illegal, and more than a little unsafe, with open pits in the ground and hundreds of drunk people coming through the door all day. He also sold beer, for those waiting a while, for a tidy 300% mark-up. He willingly told me all this as I was fascinated by the smarts and cojones involved.

For reasons which I don't understand, he insisted on taking shirt off when I asked for a photo for my blog. And for other reasons which might explain his lawless rebel mentality, he also insisted he show me his tattoo. Which would NOT have served him well if the cops happened to wander by and break up his little operation.

What a small-town mason in the Netherlands has in common with N.W.A. I'm not quite sure.

Amsterdam continues to amaze.

P.S. - Dude, it's "tha". Represent, homeslice.

Some of the stuff for sale on a sidewalk. "Beer" is actually "bear", though at first glance it's a pretty advanced kids' book.

Huh. Alf made it across the Atlantic. Remarkable.

The day winds down with a mellow, peaceful de-boarding for many boats near Utrechtsestraat, with a bubble machine adding a nice touch.

The Finale

2011-05-22T21:52:00.005+02:00

Eurovision wrapped up last Saturday, with a 3+ hour bonanza live from Dusseldorf that featured 25 performances from 25 different nations.

Aside from the 20 qualifying countries that emerged from the previous week, some of the heavy-hitters (read: best bribers) received an automatic berth in the finale. The Big Five of Spain, Italy, Germany, UK, and France were all given a pass for some reason. I'm sure there was a good one - I just am Eurovisioned out, so you may need to look it up yourself.

What followed was an anti-climax of Eurovisionary proportions. The 20 qualifiers all repeated the exact same song that got them there, and the Big 5 failed to connect with the audience.

Noteworthy by its absence is a live blog of the event here, similar to the festivities earlier in the week. This was mainly due to A) the presence of friends at our place, where it would be pretty antisocial to be glued to a laptop for three hours and B) the fear that there wouldn't be much new to say.

So... fast forward to the end, which turns out to be the most dramatic part of all as people from all over Europe call in (the phone lines open even before the first song is sung) and award their collective points to their favourite countries. It's also the most politicized contest in the world, as it turns out. The IOC seems squeaky clean by comparison.

Blocs of countries located near each other reward the most points to - well, each other. A total of 43 countries get to vote (including those that didn't make it to the finals), and each one has a celebrity from his/her home announce the point allotment. (12 being the maximum, 10 to their second fave, and so on).

Bored? Confused? Me too. Suffice to say that going through 43 countries takes some time. 42 individuals all spoke English, with the notable exception of France who felt it was their right to speak their own language. Quelles douches.

While my vote would have handed the title back to Germany - their winner from last year, Lena, sang this cool little tune. Understated, unlike 95% of the performances. A little White Stripes-ish even.

So who won??? Well, after being elbowed in the ribs to wake up, I rubbed my eyes long enough to see....Azerbaijan. Wha the? With a pleasant but tepid pop duet, they weren't in anyone's top 5 in at least one Amsterdam household.

My friend James (who studiously took notes throughout the event, to ensure he chose wisely at the end of the marathon) immediately suggested an oil-soaked conspiracy from the petrol-plentiful nation. The idea being that - as the winning country does get to host the event the next year, garnering huge exposure and tourist money - the Azerbaijanis somehow (oil) rigged the votes.

My outrage at this was fully tempered by my apathy; at this point, each pop song blurred into the other. Azerbaijan blurred into Slovenia which morphed into Greece. My ears longed for silence.

James' notes

I can safely go back to my normal, non-Eurovision life at last. Jedward from Ireland, the Moldovan madmen, the Isreali he-she, and all the others can all go home now, firmly embedded into my mind.

As for any predictions about who might become known to North American audiences, I would predict Eric Saade from Sweden and maybe the aforementioned Lena. It's unlikely that Azerbaijan will crack the Billboard charts.

But I now know that Europe can match North America - in some cases, far exceed it - in terms of both talent and total cheese.

EuroVision Part Deux

2011-05-18T12:19:00.002+02:00

Eurovision, part two. Watching from the couch here in Amsterdam, Thursday night promises more of the same - 80% fromage, 10% sexy, and 10% being music that you would readily admit to listening to.

1) Bosnia-Herzegovina kicks things off with a folksy tune sung by the oldest person in the competition, a graying, tweed-jacket wearing Bosnian-Herzegovinian. Sex appeal at its lowest point in the contest.

2) Austria - rights the sex appeal ship within seconds, as a very fit girl in a black mini-dress. These aren't your grandpa's lederhosen. The Whitney Houston-ish song (early Whitney, not crack-Whitney) is actually quite nice.

3) Netherlands - the "3J's" do a soft-rock ballad. I'm guessing the J's stand for Jan, Jeroen, and Jawnnn. Fittingly for the Dutch, it's pretty cheesy.

4) Belgium - no waffling here. Brutal. Singing A Crapella, about 8 men and women sing without instruments. A beat-boxing youth spices things up as background music, but it is not salvageable.

5) Slovakia - "The Twins" sing a soulless but nicely melodic song, shades of a Brit girl group from the 90's whose name thankfully escapes me. No, it's actually All-Saints. I feel shame, knowing this. Early front-runner.

6) Ukraine - Some kind of yelling power ballad, with a sand-drawing artist projected onto the background screen. Clearly a ruse to distract from the shoddy song. Insane in the Ukraine. So far all the songs have sounded roughly the same; sleep beckons.

7) Moldova - Bam! Wakes me up in a hurry. Trumpets, huge cone-shaped hats, a girl on a unicycle. I've had dreams just like this. Part-rap, part... sort of early Red Hot Chili Peppers. You know, I can't describe this any other way. Huge points for trying to be different though.

8) Sweden - by far the slickest, most professional act of the night. A boy band to the max. Very poppy, a little 80s techno, and pre-teen European girls are crying already.

9) Cyprus - Tonight, these countries are making my job tough. They are mashing up categories to make description nigh impossible. Eat me, Cyprus. That's all I got.

10) Bulgaria - More power-ballad, complete with fire effects and huge wind machines. I am not blown away. Their chances of making it to Saturday's finals are nil.

11) FYR Macedonia - Very FYR Macedonian.

12) Israel - Hmm. Not every day you see a post-op transvestite (now a woman) wearing a dress apparently made entirely of palm fronds. (In Amsterdam, however, it's every second day). Above-average doctor, average song.

13) Slovenia - Tonight is power-ballad night, it seems. Again, I need a shot of Vitamin Moldova to wake me up.

14) Romania - Accompanied by a spunky piano, a Mika-voiced Romanian sensation rocks the Eurovision nation. Actually, not really, but it was fun to write. Lose the pianist, I say. (That's what #12 said too).

15) Estonia - ANOTHER impossible-to-describe type of song. I think Jay-Z said it best: live bloggin' ain't easy. Call it Katy Perry, with more talent and some "doo-wop" thrown in for good measure. The song is called Rockefeller Street, and see if you can describe the style.

16) Belarus - sings a fist-pumping song that makes it seem that they are making fun of themselves, "I Love Belarus". Well, somebody has to. Next!

17) Latvia - these guys did a kind of nerdy rap pop duet. Actually kind of cool, enough so that they've robbed me of any mocking juice. Damn.

18) Denmark - like Sweden, pure pop, and a little sumpin sumpin for the ladies. The guy is wearing a backless shirt, which seems odd. So generous, he gave the back off his shirt.

19) Ireland - WOW. Ireland as a nation is likely cringing. Jedward, as they're called, are twins. And if you've ever longed for music that bridges the gap between Devo and the Spice Girls, well, tonight is your lucky night. They put the gae in Gaelic. Check their song out here. Warning: you will be singing the chorus all day.

No doubt a familiar position

Head to YouTube and enter any country and "eurovision" and you can check out any songs I haven't included here.

The finals go Saturday night, with 25 nations competing (France, Italy, the UK, and Spain all get a free entry, as does host country Germany). And then I can go back to never admitting that I watched every second.

EuroVision

2011-05-17T23:18:00.001+02:00

*Note - the date on this blog is a week old; the Blogger service wiped out this post last week.

So, having proudly watched maybe a total of three minutes of American and Canadian Idol my entire life, I find myself here in Amsterdam, forc, er, coaxed into watching Eurovision, a European icon for over fifty years apparently. It's either this or a rather sad time sitting upstairs alone. A Canadian, idle. So, purely in the interest of my relationship, I am here.

The show opens with spectacular awkwardness, with the German male host saying to his two female co-hosts "the voting is so easy, even a woman can do it." What an idiot. This is gonna be awesome.

The Dutch commentator speaks over 90% of the English commentary. Stupendously annoying, and unnecessary for a viewing audience that ranks second-highest in the world in terms of English comprehension for non-English-speaking countries.

I do like the condensed format - Tuesday and Thursday evening, two-minute songs, and the finals on Saturday. 6 hours, done.

A live blog of the evening's affairs.

1) Poland - a Polish Abba-type band opens with a lukewarm number that leaves me eyeing the staircase. (No photo - I was lulled into distraction by boredom).

2) Norway goes for Haba Haba, an African-infused pop ditty that features 3 black girls and 2 white male back-up dancers, turning our perceptions of the Scandinavian nation on its head faster than you can say Haba Haba. The early front-runners, easily.

3) Albania - sings a song in English, an Albanian version of Pink gets out some serious daddy issues as her massive jugular vein fills our screen. Scary, but does not resonate.

4) Armenia - Boom Boom Chacka Chacka, sings Emmy, a diminutive Armenian (really, is there any other kind?). Euro-pop at its peak, or valley, depending on your perspective. I'll go with valley. Though her boobs might rack up some votes. I might stick around for a few more songs.

5) Turkey - a rock-ish number complete with a Cirque du SoLame contortionist in a bamboo cage. Somehow it all works though.

6) Serbia - Nina sings a retro-dabbled number, with outfits straight from Austin Powers. No, Baby, No.

7) Russia - Alexej sings a lukewarm pop tune with an all-male backup crew, and sings "I'm coming to get you". Unless he means my order at Olive Garden Moscow, I don't think so.

8) Switzerland - a cello, a banjo, and a cute girl going for a Feist-like ditty. Not my stuff, but the crowd goes wild.

9) Georgia - A goth-rap screamer. What's that awful band called, Evanescence? These guys are better, which is like saying Milli is better than Vanilli.

10) Finland - Finnally! After nine group numbers, a solo act, a la James Blunt. Weak start, strong Finnish. With a shirt straight from Star Trek, this little dweeb's got a future. Along with their Norwegian neighbours, a strong contender.

11) Malta - So Maltese people look like Canadian figure skater Emanuel Sandhu. This dude somehow manages to be even gayer. More of an Emanuel Sandon't.

12) San Marino - To be honest, I didn't even know this was a country. I thought it was a retired Miami Dolphins quarterback. About the same, musically-speaking, and not far off in the masculinity area. Tran Marino.

13) Croatia - This song featured a magician with the ability to change the singer's costume 3 times. Sadly, the singer did not disappear.

14) Iceland - 6 guys, strumming and singing some indescribably cheesy song. I find myself wishing for volcanic ash to obscure my ears.

15) Hungary - a pop-rock tune of stunning mediocrity by a tranny-esque singer named Kati Wolf. A he in wolf's clothing, if you ask me. Still a very nice voice though.

16) Portugal - this is the worst thing I've heard in my life. Some form of playful political pop song with signs saying "The Struggle is Joy". No, the struggle is stopping my ears from bleeding. This must be Exhibit A when people point to Eurovision as a cheesy farce.

17) Lithuania - C'est Ma Vie, a French song sung by a Lithuanian woman in English while using sign language. (Seriously). Will be a hit with all deaf Lithuanian grandparents with Franco-Anglo ancestors. Yet a classy song with piano accompaniment. Third place behind the Finns and the Norwegians.

18) Azerbaijan - a very poppy duet, but melodic. Makes me want to hug an Azerbaijani. Tied for second with the friendly Finnish fellow. The most radio-ready of all the songs thus far.

19) Greece - a hip-hop entry segues into an operatic Michael Bublepolopoulous. So confused, my keyboard just blew up.

So, before the results are in to see who moves to Saturday's finals, my top 5 - a hybrid of what I like and what I think will play well with the voting public. 10 actually go through, but it's late and I am old.

1) Norway

2) Azerbaijan

3) Finland

4) Turkey

5) Hungary

The results are sent in over the course of the show, so they announce the countries that will go through to Saturday at the end of the show tonight.

Drumroll please...

UNBELIEVABLE... Norway doesn't go through. Blatant Euro-racism. Anyway, my Norwegian Benneton ad will be vindicated when Haba Haba goes to number 1 on all the worldwide charts. I can't type anymore, my fingers are filled with sorrow.

Till Thursday everyone!

Blogga Please

2011-05-14T20:30:00.001+02:00

Sorry folks - the last two posts, both on the Eurovision spectacle, were wiped out by a Blogger system outage Friday.

I will revive them within the next 2 days. Tonight, the grand finale!

Lonely Planet eBook

2011-05-08T15:08:00.008+02:00

Many months ago, a group of Lonely Planet bloggers started compiling photos about some of our favorite places around the planet.

Around the World with 40 Lonely Planet Bloggers is the result, and it's inspiring, cool, and free.

My own contribution (p.28-29) was inspired by a love of the sun and the places within cities where you can find your own little place in it.

Have a look at the book. You'll find some great blogs, writers and photographers both, who are also passionate travellers.

Albert Cuyp Market

2011-04-28T01:17:00.000+02:00

(This post is part of The Marketplace series of blogs - along with fellow Lonely Planet bloggers, it's part of our regular Lonely Planet Blogsherpa Travel Carnival. This month the carnival is being hosted by Kiran at Indian Bazaars).

Albert Cuyp Market began in 1904, along a wide street in the area of Amsterdam called De Pijp, just a five minute bike ride south of the city center.

It has 300 stalls, from cheap chic clothing to fresh fish, from bike accessories to huge amounts of flowers (10 roses for 5 Euros. Guys - it's never been cheaper to buy your way out of trouble).

It's a classic outdoor market, with various vendors barking out their specials all day while locals and tourists amble along and scarf down a fresh stroopwafel (thin syrup waffle) or fries. What it lacks in aesthetics - cheap-looking stalls atop dark grey gum-imprinted asphalt - it makes up for in products and in characters.

I personally get to experience the best and the worst of it. The best being tons of fresh, quality food about 90 seconds walk from my door, one street north of Albert Cuypstraat. This also includes the roasted chicken dripping off the spit, and the butcher who always has a spare bit of smoked turkey for our dog.

Tied for the tops are the people. The characters are real-life, seasoned market-hawkers - mostly very friendly, some gruff, always authentic and fair (this is not one of those markets where you haggle). They'll switch to speaking English in a second too. The old salty dogs selling an awesome variety of fish look like they caught it themselves that morning, and a faulty bike lock is replaced right away. You never feel jobbed (ahem, Istanbul and Barcelona markets - looking at you here).

The worst? The clattering fish and flower trolleys at 5:30 in the morning as they get set up for the day ahead, 6 days a week (the market is closed on Sundays). Ear plugs are a must for this time of day if you sleep anywhere near the market.

And the trash - the street is remarkably clean after 7pm as the city cleaning crews sweep it all up, but between 5 and 7 you can't imagine the heaps of trash and heaps of stink. (Of course, time your trip right at the end of the day and snag deals like 10 kiwis for 1.50Euros, and the stink is less than you think).

The next day, from a blank, flat slate, it rises all over again from the pavement. This is one of those places that you can't experience in many parts of the world.

8:45am Saturday

Man with bike

Woman with crabs

Saturday 12:45pm

Saturday 6:30pm

Get to Know An Amsterdammer(s) 4

2011-04-18T05:36:00.005+02:00

Amsterdam is one of the most densely-populated cities in Europe. With people living at such close quarters to each other, it helps to have good neighbours. It helps even more, one might suggest, if those neighbours are tango dancers.

Meet Vanessa (the neighbour, in yellow) and Christiane (the friend of the neighbour). Over a random afternoon chatting over and then climbing over the short brick wall separating our back patios, with prosecco, cheese, and grapes to fuel the discussion on a sun-dappled late March afternoon, we got to know some more Amsterdammers.

Both are indeed tango dancers, which in a Northern European city is about as common as being a gouda seller in Buenos Aires. Christiane has been here since 1993 while Vanessa was born here but spent the past seven years in Argentina.

Vanessa

Age: 29

Is: dating someone actually named Rembrandt

Likes about Amsterdam:

the "mix" of everthing and everyone, the different cultures to run into everyday. You can go for a drink alone and not stand out, and feel comfortable.
the bikes
the small size - despite being a major international city, everything feels close and you can bike everywhere in 15 minutes.

Dislikes about Amsterdam:

The drunkenness, especially among young people (Editor's note: just last night - weeks after this interview was held - some young people caused havoc in Vondelpark, the central point of good weather hanging out and laid-back behaviour - they pulled people off bikes, assaulted some, then throw bottles at police; this is a highly uncommon experience however)
"It can be difficult to make friends with the Dutch" (Ed. note - and Vanessa is Dutch)
The weather (aside from this amazing spring)

Oddest sight: some oiled-up guy in rollerblades and a g-string (Ed. note - sorry; I was feeling a little frisky that night).

Where else would you live in the world?

Buenos Aires

Life as a tango dancer/instructor can be hard here - it's not a passion of the Dutch, not a tango culture of course. And there is perhaps less, er, flexibility in their hips. Why does she keep doing it? "Because I love to dance".

----

Christiane

Age: 36

Is: originally from Brazil

Likes about Amsterdam:

the laid-back people
the compactness of the city
relaxed lifestyle
the small size - despite being a major international city, everything feels close and you can bike everywhere in 15 minutes.

Dislikes about Amsterdam:

Impoliteness of the people, the lack of social awareness
"The Dutch - and of course there are exceptions - are very concerned with spending money; this also seems to translate into being stingy with their feelings."
The weather

Favourite spots:

Cafe-Restaurant Vertigo (above the Film Museum, in Vondelpark) (Ed. note - lame photos on their website belie a very cool location)
Cafe Walem
Jordaan neighbourhood
Vondelpark

Where else would you live in the world?

Madrid, Paris, numerous places in Italy

Christiane's challenges with being a tango dancer here mirror those of Vanessa. People don't immerse themselves here, they just dabble for fun and don't want to spend the money or the time to get into it. They want to have fun, and to really learn tango is not fun.

---

Having interesting neighbours just outside your back door, however, is quite fun.

Ugliness v. Beauty

2011-04-10T21:11:00.009+02:00

As we sit one day after one of the ugliest days in recent Dutch history, a reminder of the beauty of things on an early morning bike ride through Amsterdam, which helped provide another reminder: to enjoy every day to the fullest.

A welcome to Vondelpark

The canal tour boats, awaiting their daily contents

On the exterior wall of the Rijksmuseum

A section of the Rijksmuseum. It's tough to capture this huge building in one shot, so I'll be rolling out various angles of it over the coming weeks.

More Spring Things

2011-04-03T10:12:00.009+02:00

Morning koffie

To continue from yesterday's post... a balmy 20-degree day arrived in Amsterdam as advertised.

On an ideal spring day with a rare warm breeze, a bike ride down to the Klein Kalfje (Little Calf) restaurant right on the Amstel River was in order. There, an unhurried afternoon (along with the famously unhurried Dutch waiters) was spent as rowers stroked past on the water, a continuous stream of cyclists whizzed past along the pathway, and cappuccino - and later beer and chicken satay - materialized in front of me.

I wish words and photos could convey the feeling better - I just had one of the nicest afternoons I've ever had.

It's a continuously remarkable city, Amsterdam is, with all it has to offer. There are not many places where you can bike 15 minutes from a bustling city center to a pastoral setting, feeling like you're on vacation among the boats and windmills and, of course, the llamas.

Bigrock Oldllama

Seating at the Klein Kalfje

The bar at the Klein Kalfje

Early sunseekers at Sarphati Park, in de Pijp. Three minute walk from the apartment. Later in the day, it was crammed with picnickers and barbeques.

Spring in Amsterdam

2011-04-02T10:25:00.004+02:00

It kicked off a few weeks ago, with a few steps back since then. But with today getting close to 20 degrees, it's on.

Spring in Amsterdam is an explosion of smiles, skirts, sloops and (some) sun. Every cafe terrace is packed, with chairs and tables crammed onto every possible inch of canalside territory.

Things bloom here early, beginning in March, and many gardens and public parks already have flowers out in full. The trees are still a bit shy, but they are getting bolder each week.

And even though winter was a lot kinder this year than last, there's still a collective Ahhhh as everyone shakes off 5 months of greyness.

Japan

2011-03-25T11:52:00.001+01:00

As new fears of a large radiation leak emerge this morning, the news from Japan has just been brutal.

A fellow Lonely Planet blogger with special ties to Japan has created a post where you can donate to relief efforts, and read more about what this country is all about:

http://www.toddswanderings.com/2011/03/how-to-help-japan-earthquake-tsunami-survivors.html

More Lithuania

2011-03-20T09:00:00.010+01:00

As the brief visit to Lithuania came to an end, the quaint little country made me promise to come back in the summer, which would include 25-degree days and visits to the beaches along the Baltic Sea. Will do.

Until then, I will attempt to run off the massive volume of potatoes and cake consumed - including a national dish involving potatoes which are peeled, boiled, ground, strained and then stuffed with either meat or cottage cheese, served with a bacon gravy. Like uber-perogies.

This is called cepelinai, pronounded zeppelinay - yes, after 5 of them in one sitting, my stomach felt more like Lead Zeppelinai. I could barely make it up the Stairway to Bathroom.

In general, life in Lithuania is not very different from the rest of the West. In some areas, it is more rural, but not much different than rural towns across Canada or the U.S. It has also been hit by the economic crisis, so some areas are sleepier than they once were.

Since its independence in 1991, the standard westernization has taken place. Cili Pica is just like Boston Pizza or TGI Fridays, H&M-style fashion is the same here as anywhere, and you'll hear Beyonce on the radio much quicker than you'll hear a Lithuanian artist.

The people are reserved (there seems to be a bylaw prohibiting smiling in photos), but in fact very friendly and genuine, and if you visit a Lithuanian home, you will not leave hungry. The women are all slim and stylish (seriously - I don't know where they put the cepelinai), the men a little less so.

Some photos to round out the trip...

Mid-afternoon snack on a Sunday

The never-ending charms of seeing/hearing English as a second language

You can buy smoked fish in many farmhouses.

Which gives me a bit of remember: everything in Lithuania is smoked and salted - beef, pork, fish, chicken, chocolate (ok, maybe not chocolate). I am thinking of starting a line of tourist t-shirts:

I Went to Lithuania, and I Got Cured

A smoker

On a stroll in Silute

Silute

The seaside town of Palanga

The Baltic Sea

S&M, Lithuania-style

Nate Dogg

2011-03-17T15:58:00.003+01:00

Rapper Nate Dogg passed away this week, prompting this tweet by Snoop. Really, I think he speaks for all of us:

"We lost a true legend n hiphop n rnb.... U will always be wit me 4ever n a day u put the g in g funk u put the 1 in 213 n u put yo stamp on evrybdy you ever didit wit...I will c u again n heaven cuz u know d slogan all doggs go to heaven yo homie n baby brotha snoopdogg!!

Lithuanian Matrimony

2011-03-12T13:03:00.012+01:00

You've probably woken up many days thinking "I wonder what a Lithuanian wedding is like?"

Well folks, I have your answer. It should be noted that there were several aspects of the wedding I attended last weekend in Siauliai (pronounced "shao-lay") that met with the strict standards of the International Matrimonial Norms, Elements and Regulations Dictates (IMaNERD):

There must be at least one Mom or Grandma dancing the shoulder-shrug shimmy; often in conjunction with finger-snapping.
There must be at least one guy who gets loaded and puts a tie or other object on his head (see above - no, that ain't me).
There must be a minimum of two Abba songs played.
There must be one uncle who has to dance with every woman present, and somewhat creepily at that.

With these all met easily, the wedding did have some interesting customs that I was unaccustomed to:

The bus that took us all from the ceremony to the reception stopped at a bridge, whereupon the bride and groom got out and he had to carry the her across it for good luck. Others could follow them doing them same with their respective partners, also for good fortune.

A "table commander" was assigned to various sections of the dinner table. Among his/her roles were to ensure that everyone drinks and had a full beverage ready when a toast was made. Many toasts were made.

Before the wedding, at the house of the bride's family, the groom was blindfolded and had to try to fit a shoe belonging to his wife on the right foot, with a choice of 5 other pairs of feet. So he would feel the others' feet first and would get in trouble if he didn't recognize his wife's own.

In a big departure from North American weddings, the bride and groom see each other and pre-celebrate at the bride's home with family and friends before even heading to the church.

There were a number of games throughout the evening which involved drinking. And the party did not stop till 5am. We were among the first to leave at 2am; even a 79-year old grandma stayed till 4:30.

Overall, it was a very nice time, with great hospitality provided to this obvious foreigner. And now you finally know what a Lithuanian wedding is like.

The evening's entertainment. A non-stop odyssey of Lithuanian old-school.

The wait at a ranchhouse while photos and sleigh rides were held outside. Treats included brandy, vodka, champagne, and pastries.

This is not the church where the ceremony was held, but the place where photos were taken in-between ceremony and reception.

The church where the ceremony was held. In English, "The Church of St. We No Pay the Heating Bills"

Bride and Groom. We could honestly see his breath when he said "I do" ("Taip", or Yes)

Hammer time

The rented bus had strict rules, including a rather random "no ice cream cones" policy

You're thinking "Is that woman wearing a makeshift diaper and running away from a man menacingly pouring vodka?" Yes. That's exactly what it is.

Lithuanian Observations

2011-03-09T22:20:00.007+01:00

This past weekend took me to Lithuania, for a wedding and a meeting of the in-laws. I would suggest there's no better way to get completely immersed in a culture than heading to a wedding where 49 out of the 50 people in attendance are from that very country.

Lithuania, for the uninitiated, is often lumped in with Estonia and Latvia in regular conversation. A small country of some 3.5 million, it takes roughly six hours by car to get from one end to another.

The country, like so many above a certain latitude, shows its best side in summer, and its grossest in early spring, where the snow needs a wash and trees need leaves.

In that same vein, there were at least a dozen times where I could easily have been driving through Lacombe, Carp, Albany, or any one of a thousand other North American small towns and countrysides.

I didn't make it to Vilnius, the capital, but instead hung out in Silute ("Shi-loo-tay"), a town of about 25,000 people. It showed a few marks of a run-down working-class ex-communist ruled spot, but otherwise it was also similar to any small city.

The entertainment media had some interesting stuff going for it. The language is a complex one, sounding (to me anyhow) as though Italian and Russian languages had a baby. Words have different endings based on their subject; I was able to read the latest on Ludacrisu, Rihannus, and of course Lady Gagos. Some impossibly bad soap operas and an all-day American Idol-type station were on the tube. It was here that I learned Bon Jovi's "It's My Life" sounds even worse in Lithuanian than in English.

More observations next post, from My Big Fattening Lithuanian Wedding (not mine, actually). For now, some photos...

Parts of Lithuania's countryside in the Western part often sees floods in winter and spring, leaving behind this cool-looking ice ring on a lot of trees.

This is a Russian guard tower. Just outside Silute, in a town called Rusne, you can walk across about 100m of ice (or swim it in the summertime) and be in Russia. The dudeski in the tower will have some questions for you though (no joke).

200 Lithuanian Litai equal $80 U.S.

Your standard supermarket wall o' vodka

Labas

2011-03-03T07:21:00.003+01:00

More travel posts coming next week as I hit Lithuania for a visit.

For now, some non-travel observations on the English language and phrases to be mindful of, ones which ideally will be stricken from everyday use:

"Last time I checked...": whatever follows this is going to be a douchey, bitchy comment. And the person saying it also probably didn't check anything either.

"No disrespect, but...": the next words will most definitely be disrespectful.

"....., just sayin'": whatever words precede this are normally much less clever and funny than the person thinks they are. Just sayin'.

"I'm not racist, but...": the words following this will make it sound like the person is.

World Press Photo 2011

2011-02-27T16:55:00.003+01:00

Have a look at the photo gallery on the link below. And then slap me if I ever complain about a rained-out weekend ever again.

World Press Photo 2011 is on tour now, arriving in Amsterdam in late April.

World Press Photo

Hermitage

2011-02-20T18:37:00.010+01:00

With all the events going on in the Middle East, now seems as good a time as any to do some historical digging into the region.

With that, and with a mini-resolution to see more museums this year in the Netherlands, it was off to the Alexander the Great exhibition at Hermitage Amsterdam.

The Hermitage "brand" was started in St.Petersburg, Russia in the 1700's, and still today holds a massive collection of art. After some 324 years as an old age home here in Amsterdam, the building I visited today has been known as Hermitage Amsterdam only since July 2009.

It is a beautiful facility. Outside, it is a little plain to look at as it stares down at the Amstel. As soon as you step into the courtyard (with flowers already starting to wake up - yesss), you get a sense of space and peace (speace?) that this densely populated city rarely offers you.

Inside, the exhibit is very well laid out over two floors. There are huge paintings, ancient scraps of writing, armor, videos and well-plotted maps that show just how much turf AtG covered in his brief 32+ years on this planet.

I previously knew next-to-nothing about the man and his outsized personality - part murderous, part magnificent, part myth.

The highlight of this particular trip (sorry for the lack of photos; picture-taking, even without flash, is not allowed so I snuck some quick shots in when security wasn't looking) was a series of reliefs by Antoine Marie Melotte. Made in the 1700s, they depict a number of episodes from AtG's famous battles, and are carved from some kind of wood. They were amazingly detailed.

Check out the highlights of the exhibit and examples of those reliefs here.

I now know a lot more than the day before, and I had those same feelings I get when visiting any museum - awe, appreciation of history and art, a greater awareness of just how short our time is on this earth, and moderate lower back pain.

"Dammit! These self-tanner instructions are all Greek to me"

The blurriness is due to the contraband, quick-shot covert photo taking

Slackin on my Bloggin

2011-02-19T10:57:00.004+01:00

A big apology to those regular readers of this blog for the lack of posts of late. It seems regular work and lack of travel contribute to slow bloggage.

Blog life was easier when I had time, simply put. For a long while (too long), infrequent work did make it easier to pick and go to a new place, within Amsterdam or elsewhere in Europe.

And it gave me time to think too, to ponder and write.

What is unemployment (or the over-used term 'funemployment') like? A lot like a Jack Johnson album, I think. At first you're thinking 'hey this is nice - easy, mellow, a good break from the daily clatter of life'. Life slows down, and happily so. You feel the sun on your face. Things are pretty sweet for a while.

By the fourth song, however, you get so colossally bored that you want to jab a fork in your eye, just to shake things up. For this reason, I am also happy to be so busy again.

So the writing will continue, albeit a little slower as regular work life interjects. Some interesting things loom, however, with a few museum visits planned and a trip to Eastern Europe. So stick around, please!

Hot Spots 4

2011-02-10T19:22:00.008+01:00

The fourth (and perhaps final, at least for blogging purposes) sauna visit in Amsterdam and area brought me to Sauna Deco, a very centrally located spot in the heart of Amsterdam.

The same rules apply here as for every other spot visited on the tour so far - coed, nude in the saunas and tubs, but sport a robe or towel in the food and lounge-y areas.

Is it getting old, seeing people naked? Normal, even? I would say no, but it certainly doesn't have that holy-s*it-I'm-naked-in-a-room-full-of-women feeling that I started out with last year. I have shed some of that North American prudishness, that's for sure.

Sauna Deco, as its name suggest, takes its decor seriously. A very nicely laid-out place, on the medium side in terms of size (not the colossus that Spa Zuiver is, but larger that Sauna Fenomeen).

It's a really nice building, with stained glass windows, ornate handrails and polished wood steps, and it has a steam room, infra-red sauna, a couple of regular dry saunas, and various tubs to cool off in, along with two outdoor sitting areas.

It also has several spots to lounge about and get your Zen on, or just have a hushed conversation with a partner.

T'was a fine way to spend 3-4 hours on a cool Sunday afternoon. Except for one thing (see "Vibe" below).

Price: decent - 21.50Euros for all day on a weekend. Prices vary for off-peak times.

Crowd/Vibe: 50-50 male/female, anywhere between 30 and 60 years old, and like the others visited on this tour, it was a mix of the fit and not-so-fit.

Sauna Deco is a relaxed, very quiet place, especially the upstairs where you can grab a blanket and lie down on a thick mat. Bring an iPod up here and drift away...

BUT - it can have a slightly creepy vibe if you are male and not into, um, other males. There is a bit of leering going on - and it's not one of those saunas just for dudes either. It's something that women get all the time from the hetero world in saunas and on the streets. Here in the sauna, you can ignore it pretty quickly by just, well, ignoring it pretty quickly.

Location: Very central and ideally located for the tourist, you'll hear other languages here although Dutch is still the main one. Pay attention though - there's no neon sign hanging outside, so you might zip right past it.

Overall: a clean, visually pleasing, not busy, very easy place to relax - unless you are homophobic. Although if you are, you need to relax more anyway.

And this wraps up my unwrapped tour folks. I wholeheartedly recommend doing a sauna in Holland for something new, adventurous, and relaxing.